Love Conquers
by sapphire0427
Summary: A look inside Esme's struggle to adjust during the early days of the Cullen family. Pre-Twilight, canon compliant, various POV.
1. Carlisle: Comfort

A/N: Many thanks to Mythical Creatures and Veritas Found for the beta work. And a special dose of beta-love to Vixen1836 for all the editing, cheerleading and hand-holding.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer is the owner and creator of the Twilight world. I am just amusing myself by playing with her toys. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

_Do not believe that he who seeks to comfort you lives untroubled _

_among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. _

_His life has much difficulty...Were it otherwise, _

_he would never have been able to find those words._

– _Rainer Maria Rilke_

_

* * *

  
_

The night-black sky outside the bedroom window lightened infinitesimally—dawn was breaking behind the clouds. I sighed. This was the problem with the day: it always interrupted the night, and since that fateful night in Ashland, Wisconsin two years ago, mine had been exceptionally satisfying. Once, I had despised the night, felt like a prisoner to its cloaking darkness. Now I was loath to give up a single moment.

Esme, my wife and reason for loving the night, stroked my cheek with her small, white hand. We lay on our sides, our foreheads nearly touching. This was my favorite time of the day; I could gaze into her eyes and never move.

"I'll miss you," she said.

"And I'll think of you every second I'm away, love." I kissed her hair, taking in her warm scent, and extricated myself from our bed. _Our bed_, I thought again and smiled. I'd never had need of a bed until I'd changed Esme.

She watched from our bed as I donned my student costume—fitted brown sport coat and trousers, white shirt and knit tie. It was convenient that the University of Oregon in Eugene had a good medical school. There had been important developments since I'd last been to medical school. Just last year, doctors had begun treating diabetes with insulin—clearly, my education needed an update. Esme and Edward could spend their time here, far enough away from the town to afford us privacy and keep the humans out of dangerous proximity, but Eugene was only a hundred miles away over the Cascade mountains—not an excessive distance to run for school each day, as long as I started early to avoid being seen.

"While you and Edward are in town today, would you please ask Mr. Brown to make me a new pair of these two-tone shoes?" I asked as I tied my tie. Running back and forth to Eugene every day ensured that my shoes did not last long. Esme didn't answer, so I turned to read her expression. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line and her eyebrows furrowed together above her dark eyes. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I took her hand in mine.

"Esme. Love. You are ready for this. I know you are thirsty, but you are strong, and Edward will be there to help you."

She nodded but didn't relax. "I know he won't let me hurt anyone. I just…" She broke off and looked away.

I tried to look into her eyes again, but she avoided my gaze.

"What is it? What can I do to help you?"

She shook her head and leaned into my shoulder. "I just wish it wasn't so _hard_," she whispered. The pain in her voice made my heart ache for her.

"Don't torment yourself, my love." I ran my fingers through her long, carmel-colored hair. "It's hard for all of us at first."

~*~*~*~

Downstairs, Edward already sat at his piano, hard at work on his first original composition.

"I'll be later than usual tonight, Edward. Professor Paulson has asked me to lead his study group tonight while he's away." I smiled. "Apparently, he thinks I'm more advanced than my classmates."

Edward continued playing, but smiled in return. "Perhaps it's the 200 years of prior study that gives that impression."

"Perhaps," I agreed. I did truly enjoy his sense of humor.

_Good luck on your trip today_, I added silently. _Esme is very anxious._

He nodded. "I'll stay by her side."

"Thank you, son." I donned my new driving cap—not that I would be driving, but I liked the hat—and opened the door to leave. "I'll see you this evening," I said. I closed the front door behind me, grateful to have Edward's help in acclimating Esme into our chosen life. Learning to deny the thirst for human blood may be the hardest thing in the world for a vampire. Edward was a tremendous help, and his ability to hear a person's thoughts made him able to intervene ahead of an attack. I could think of no better way to help Esme.

I breathed a prayer of thanks as I buttoned my coat, then I darted into the trees, heading for another day of school.


	2. Edward: Strength

_You must do the thing you think you cannot do. _

_— Eleanor Roosevelt_

_

* * *

_The sensation of the ivory beneath my fingers brought me a strange relief. I had left last night to give Carlisle and Esme some privacy—not easily afforded in the small house, considering our acute hearing, and impossible with my extra sense—and though I didn't grudge them the night spent wandering nearby Vancouver Island, I had felt anxious to get back to work, back to my piano.

Carlisle and Esme were now talking in their room. Esme didn't want him to go to school today; she was worried about being near the humans in town. He comforted her, and I could hear in his thoughts the sincere belief that Esme could handle the temptation she would face today.

I believed it, too, but I didn't relish the anticipation of today's journey. My ability to hear others' thoughts meant that I could intervene if Esme became overwhelmed. It also meant that I would experience not only my thirst, but hers as well. The prospect was unpleasant at best—sweet, warm venom filled my mouth at the very thought.

As Carlisle left Esme in their room, I could hear unwillingness in both their thoughts. Carlisle would return after dark, just over fourteen hours from now. It seemed a small span of time, especially to an immortal, and yet they both dreaded the separation.

The love they shared was beautiful to watch. Esme had awakened from the burning of the change and recognized Carlisle's face from ten years before. She'd accepted her new reality calmly, believing that having Carlisle would be worth the sacrifice. Carlisle was alive in a completely new way since he found her—the very tenor of his mind had changed, had taken on a timbre of contentment and peace that I had never heard before. From anyone.

It was this tone that I now tried to capture in song. I had never composed music before, but their feelings were sometimes overwhelming, and translating them into music had seemed a natural move.

Carlisle appeared behind me and began putting on his coat and hat. He mentioned he'd be late returning home, and I promised I'd keep a close watch on Esme. And I would. If she slipped, it caused pain for all of us. I would do my best to protect innocent life, and to protect my family.

As he stood on the front porch, Carlisle said a prayer of thanks for my presence in his life. These private prayers were nothing new, but his gratitude always touched me. As if inspired, my fingers found the right chords to lead into the piece's next movement.

Floorboards creaked beneath Esme's feet as she prepared to dress for the day. I heard her indecision as she rifled through her closet, looking for something that wouldn't draw attention on the streets of the small town. I refocused on my playing to give her privacy for changing.

The composition was coming along nicely—it just needed a proper resolution—when Esme came down to the living room. She sat in her rocking chair near the window and took up her sewing. The familiarity of the task and the sweetness of the music calmed her.

"What will you call it, Edward?"

I stopped playing and looked at her. "I hadn't thought to name it, actually. Why don't you?"

Her eyes widened. "It's too beautiful," she said. "I couldn't."

Her humility was endearing. She truly didn't see herself as beautiful, though she was, and she didn't at all understand the change she'd wrought in Carlisle's life, or in mine. She'd made us a family. Suddenly, I wanted to show her.

"Why shouldn't you name it? I wrote it for you. Watching you and Carlisle has been… inspiring."

_Oh, Edward,_ she began. _You'll find someone._

I smiled. "That isn't what I meant; I don't feel lonely. I only meant that you and Carlisle have a beautiful bond. I wrote this for the two of you."

She came to stand behind the piano bench and placed her hands on my shoulders. "Thank you," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. She asked me to play it again, and she listened with her thoughts full of joy—in me, in Carlisle, in our unconventional family. I played on, enjoying the feel of her touch, her maternal pride and admiration.

After the song was finished, I turned to face her. "Ready to go?" I knew she dreaded this day and its test of her will, but it was my responsibility to get her safely through it.

Esme let out a sigh and took her light grey coat from the closet. "Carlisle needs new shoes again." She smiled as she fastened her hat into her hair. "We'll have to visit the cobbler while we're out."

~*~*~*~

The sun was high in the east behind the ceiling of clouds. The walk into Bend took nearly an hour at human speed; I'd let Esme set the pace, and she used the time to prepare herself.

_Fabric, lace and a package of needles from the general store. Shoes for Carlisle from Mr. Brown. Engage the carpenter to do the work on the cabin soon._ She went over our list of errands to occupy her mind. As we walked along the dirt road, animals darted away into the cover of the trees. They knew enough to be uncomfortable with our presence—animals can sense when predators are near.

As we rounded the curve that brought the town into view, a breeze blew from the south and brought with it the scent of the nearby humans. Esme stiffened and her hand on my arm clamped down.

"Edward," she whispered, too fast and low for human ears, even had they been right beside us. "I'm so nervous, Edward."

"I know. But you've handled meeting humans before, and I'll be next to you. If you begin to feel overwhelmed, we will leave immediately." I squeezed her hand.

She looked down at the gravel beneath her shoes. _But I'm so _thirsty_ now._

I nodded. "Yes, it will be more difficult than last time, because you are thirsty already. But resisting is a matter of will, as Carlisle says. Just remain aware of your thirst—don't let it take you by surprise. And if a human gets too close, or smells too good, stop breathing until you can get away."

"I don't want to fail," she said. "You have learned, and I must learn as well." She looked up at me, her black eyes haunted. "I just don't want it to happen again, like it did that time." She remembered our last day in Ashland—Carlisle was finishing his last shift at the hospital. We were set to leave the next week. Carlisle was now claiming to be 35, and we needed a more secluded place for Esme to outgrow her newborn stage.

I'd left her that morning and gone to pick up a new suitcase for her things. I hadn't expected the postman to come so early—on the rare occasions we received any mail, he came in the afternoon—but nearing the house, I heard his thoughts as he approached the porch. I had come through the trees beside the house just as Esme lunged. I'd shouted and run to stop her, but she had been only a month old and was much too strong for me.

"Stop," I said aloud. "Esme, stop. You can't let the past rule you. You are not the same now." She started to disagree, but I held up a hand. "You _can_ be rational. You _can_ resist. Carlisle has done it for hundreds of years. I do it. You can learn to do it, too."

She let out a long breath and walked into the main street of Bend.


	3. Esme: Failure

_Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success, _

_inasmuch as... every fresh experience points out some form of error _

_which we shall afterwards carefully avoid. _

_— John Keats_

_

* * *

_

Decker's General Store held seven customers besides Edward and myself. My throat was flaming. I could smell each one of the seven humans in the store as I made my way to the fabric and notions along the back wall. I looked through the materials, reminding myself to breathe evenly. Each time I inhaled, venom filled my mouth and I swallowed it. My muscles tightened and I unclenched them. Every breath was torture, stoking the fire in my throat. I could hear each of their hearts beating, pumping their blood hot and wet through their veins…

"Esme."

Edward's voice interrupted the train of my thoughts. He could hear my struggle, of course, as clearly as I could hear the heartbeats. I hated that I could hear them, and that they made me want them. I refocused on choosing fabric for the cabin curtains, trying to ignore the delicious smells all around me.

It wasn't working. I had spent time around humans before, but never when I was this thirsty. I chose the material I wanted, a white linen, and picked up the other items without really looking at them, needing all my concentration just to get safely out of the store. I purchased them from Mr. Decker at the counter and smiled when he told me to enjoy my day. But all the time, all I really felt was the thirst. I knew I must not take any of the humans, but I wanted them all nonetheless. And the wanting left me feeling like a failure.

"You are not a failure," Edward whispered as we walked toward Brown's Cobblery Shop. "You are doing very well."

"Thank you," I whispered back. I felt so fortunate to have Edward. He was the best son a mother could hope to have.

He patted my arm and led me through Mr. Brown's door. Fortunately, Mr. Brown was alone in his shop, so I had only one taboo scent to handle here.

Mr. Brown was short and barrel-chested, with reddish brown hair and a bushy beard. His smile was friendly as he greeted us.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cullen, Mr. Platt." He waved, sending a column of warm air toward us.

He smelled _good_.

As we exchanged pleasantries, I tried not to focus around the blazing in my throat. I explained what I needed—new shoes for my brother and for my husband—and paid in advance, against Mr. Brown's objections, as always.

He bid us good day and went back to the shoe he'd been repairing. Several things happened in quick succession then: Mr. Brown swung his hammer and cursed, Edward opened the door to let me out, and the smell of fresh human blood filled my nostrils.

I bolted toward the scent, but Edward was faster than me. He grabbed me around the waist and said through his teeth, "No, Esme. Think. Stop breathing."

I obeyed. He pulled me toward the street and I let him. Leading me forcefully to a bench, he sat beside me, just a brother giving his sister a rest from their walk. I hid my face in my hands. My reaction to Mr. Brown's blood horrified me. I was not as good as Edward. I was _not_ like Carlisle.

I was a monster.

"That's not true," Edward murmured. "You resisted."

The shame was too much—I hung my head. "I didn't want to."

"But you _did_ want to. When I told you to hold your breath, you did. You let me lead you out. That's all any of us can do." He squeezed my shoulder and stood. "Now let's go hire your carpenter so you can finish my house." He grinned.

I went along, taking heart in Edward's words. I had let him pull me away, and Mr. Brown would go home tonight to his wife and children. I wondered if he had noticed our strange behavior in the shop.

"No. He was thinking about how pretty you are, actually, and he drove a tack through his thumb." Edward smiled. "He wasn't aware of us or any other thing aside from that."

After asking several people in town, we found Jim Hawthorne, the carpenter, overseeing the framing of a small house on the north side of town, not far from our road. I spoke with him for several minutes about repairing the cabin that Carlisle had purchased for me. It was several miles beyond our remote home, isolated from the road by a nearly mile-long path. I claimed to be repairing it for my brother, Edward. Mr. Hawthorne took my sketches and promised to send his crew when they became available, which might not be for several weeks. That was fine with me; I had plenty of work to do at the cabin in preparation.

I was more than ready to be home, so after about a quarter of a mile, we left the road and ran through the woods, avoiding yards and clearings as we went. I put away my day's purchases while Edward settled down with a volume of Kierkegaard on his lap.

"So serious," I teased, but he knew I was proud of the way he worked to improve his mind. He pretended not to hear that thought, but his lips quirked up just a little.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he said. "It was a difficult day for both of us."

I nodded, though his understatement was almost laughable. "I think I'll go to the cabin and start clearing away some of the debris." Occupation seemed like a good way to clear my head of the flavorful smells still resting on the back of my tongue.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Edward's" cabin was little more than a two-room hunting shack amid the sea of evergreens. My design added two bedrooms, a pantry and a washroom, and included a properly cleared yard. I decided to start there.

I spent about an hour clearing young seedling pines and spruces from around the house. Once, a ray of sunlight peeked down through a hole in the clouds and onto my skin, casting rainbow flecks around the clearing. It was quite beautiful.

When the yard was cleared, I moved into the cabin. Utilitarian as it was, it had a certain charm, and, more importantly, sturdy beams. That meant the frame could be stripped of extraneous materials but remain intact. I liked the idea of preserving the heart of the little house, creating something new from something abandoned to decay.

I could feel the sun falling lower in the grey sky, and I welcomed the night that would bring Carlisle home to me. He'd promised before he left to take me hunting tonight. None of us had hunted for nearly ten days—I had been nervous about today's trip to town because it had been so long. But now I knew I could look him in the eye tonight. I had resisted. He wouldn't have to be ashamed of me.

Not that Carlisle would ever admit being ashamed of me. He was completely good. I had understood that from the moment I met him as a sixteen-year-old patient. And when I'd heard his voice through the burning of my change, explaining what was happening, promising to stay with me… I had loved him immediately, though I knew I could never deserve someone so special.

I stood in the front doorway looking into the cabin, reviewing plans again in my mind, noting where each wall, door and window would go. I lost myself in thoughts of furnishing these rooms with rustic tables and rugs. I hardly noticed when the rain began to fall. The sound was soothing, and I was soon lost in my plans and preparations. Designing and building always absorbed me this way.

I failed to register the noise behind me until it was too late to hide myself. I turned to see a young man, just older than Edward, maybe, walking through the clearing. His clothes were travel-worn and dirty and his blond hair was disheveled, but his blue eyes were bright. He stopped a short distance away from me and half-smiled. My appearance probably unsettled him.

"Hello," I said. "May I help you somehow?"

He smiled wider and raked his thick fingers through his hair. "Good evenin', ma'am. I am just passin' through this area, and I heard tell this place was abandoned." He looked at his feet and back up at me. "I hoped I could stay here a night or two."

"Oh, of course. This cabin was abandoned. My husband and I only recently purchased it for my brother." _How easily I have learned to lie_, I thought. The lies, though necessary, were a part of this life that I did not like.

The stranger looked embarrassed and hoisted his bag back onto his shoulder. But I didn't want him to leave. He seemed too young to be wandering all alone—how could I deny him a roof above his head?

"We have not yet begun work on this house yet," I said. "You may stay here if you like."

His eyes brightened at the news. "Oh, thank you, ma'am. Thank you very much."

I waved away his thanks. "It's no problem at all. Make yourself comfortable, if you can." I smiled and stepped around him onto the path. As I passed, he reached to shake my hand and suddenly, my head was full of his scent, warm and fragrant from the rain.

My muscles tensed and I sprang for his throat.


	4. Edward: Sorrow

_The deeper sorrow carves into your being, _

_the more joy you can contain. _

_— Kahlil Gibran_

_

* * *

_Esme usually returned by late afternoon and we awaited Carlisle's return together. Today, I had read all of Kierkegaard that I could process, and I decided to see if she needed any help at the cabin. Her work had kept her late tonight.

The evening air had cooled, but it felt warm against my cold skin. I listened for her as I walked, but heard nothing save the scurrying feet of a raccoon. A little further into the trees, an owl hooted in the distance, and yet still I could not hear Esme… I strained and focused towards the cabin until I found her thoughts -—wordless and despairing.

I bolted toward the cabin. I knew I was too late to stop her, to prevent the killing; Esme's mind was a jumble of pain and fear. How had this happened again? What were the odds of a human happening across her while she was alone?

My feet pounded the ground as I cursed the force of fate that had allowed this, allowed such a warm, loving woman to endure this pain. Again. She tried so hard and wanted so badly to resist. It was just wrong for life to torment her so.

I cleared the trees and stopped short when I found her sitting on the ground, her head resting on her knees, her hands covering her face. The rain had picked up and was now soaking her hair, thickening the dark strands that now clung to her back and arms.

My gaze flickered from her to the body next to her. He was a young man, no more than twenty. A drifter, by the state of his clothes and worn boots. His wet blond hair stood in all directions from his head, which sat at an odd angle on his shoulders. His peaceful expression gave no hint of the violent end he'd met just moments ago. Though the loss of this innocent life grieved me, I forced myself to look, to remember that _this_ was why we must be careful.

She should have heard me, of course, but her overwhelmed mind had not actively registered my arrival. "Esme?" I began, annoyed at my uncertainty about what to say next. I stepped slowly toward her. "Esme, can you tell me what happened?"

She didn't move, didn't respond. Her thoughts were still incoherent, but I sensed fear permeating them. _What is she afraid of?_

"Esme," I said. "This is a sad day, but you must pick yourself up now. You must move forward. Forever is a long time." I had hated these words when Carlisle had said them to me, but now I could appreciate their wisdom.

My words jolted her thoughts, and I caught _deserve eternity alone_ and _not worth this_ amid the new wave of despair.

"I can't read your thoughts until you calm down some. Talk to me, Esme. Come out of yourself and talk about this."

_I can't. It's too horrible, _she told me, remembering the young man's friendly smile. _He'll never make it home now_, she thought, and another round of tearless sobs racked her body.

I sat down on the muddy ground beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "No," I agreed, "he won't. And that is a tragedy. But this day could be blacker still."

She turned her head, still resting on her knees, toward me in question.

"Truly," I said. "It is painful for a family to lose a son. But it is just as painful for a family to lose its mother."

She drew in a faltering breath. "I would hardly call that a loss. All I bring are problems. I've ruined things. Again." A new shudder of fear rippled through her mind, disturbing her thought process. I had to keep her talking.

"Well, we will have to move, that's true. But that's what we'll do, as we've done before. You know Carlisle had to move us four times in my first four months because of my mistakes. You have adjusted much better."

I heard Carlisle in the forest, listening to us talk. He perceived that something was amiss, and he slowed his pace—he didn't want to disturb Esme in this moment.

Her eyes were open now, pain clearly etched in every line of her face. I had felt that pain, I understood it. The reason for it lay lifeless on the ground beside me. The fear, though, I didn't understand.

"Tell me why you're afraid, Esme. We've had to hide ourselves before. We'll protect you."

Her hands came back to cover her face. "Why would he want to? I've already cost him his practice, he's resorted to posing as a student so we can live far from people… I know he must be tired of me holding him back. I don't deserve his protection."

Carlisle stepped out of the trees at the clearing's edge then, his eyes blazing with emotion. "Regardless of what has happened here today, you deserve everything I have, Esme."


	5. Carlisle: Worth

_To do anything in this world worth doing, we must not stand back _

_shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, _

_but jump in, and scramble through as well as we can. _

_— Sydney Smith_

_

* * *

_The run home from Eugene was usually relaxing, but I barely noticed my surroundings tonight as I raced over the mountains. I was anxious to get back to Esme. The empty house came as a surprise. Edward's fresh scent trailed off into the forest toward the cabin Esme was remodeling. I followed it, expecting to find the two of them at work dismantling the degraded cabin walls.

But as I approached, I heard Edward speaking, explaining to Esme about the times we had had to move just after his change. I moved out of the path of the wind, not wanting my scent to disturb their conversation. I wondered why he would be reliving that particular time in our lives—I knew it made him uncomfortable to remember it. But as I caught sight of them between the trees, I understood his reasoning all to well.

Edward sat with his legs bent, on the muddy ground between Esme and the lifeless body of a young traveler. He was explaining to Esme that we would move, as we must sometimes do, to protect each other. She was obviously distraught over her mistake, so these words made sense to me. This accident had cost a young man his life—the very thing we spent our lives trying to avoid. But when Edward asked her why she was afraid, I was caught totally off-guard. Why would she need to be afraid?

"I've already cost him his practice. I know he must be tired of me holding him back. I don't deserve his protection."

Her insecurity tore at my heart. How could she think I would leave her? How could I be better off without her? Did she not know, after all this time, how she had filled my empty heart?

I stepped out of the clearing toward where they sat. "Regardless of what has happened here today, you deserve everything I have, Esme." I knelt in front of her and tried to look into her eyes. She turned her face toward me but kept her eyelids closed. "Come, Esme. Wherever we go, we will go together. Always. Open your eyes."

She shook her head as new sobs racked her shoulders. How could I make her understand that these accidents were unfortunate but unavoidable, a part of who we were by nature? A fleeting doubt passed through my mind—had I really done the right thing by changing her and Edward?

As gently as I could, I pried her hands away from her face and raised it to my own. "Open your eyes, Esme. Please, don't hide from me."

"No," she whispered, clenching her lids tighter. I tried not to let this sting me.

"Please," I begged again, desperate to reassure her, to ease her suffering in some way. "Please look at me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't deserve you."

"Esme, that's… I don't understand. Have I done something to hurt you?"

Her eyelids darted open—and suddenly I understood her reluctance: her eyes were a dark ruby red.

"Hurt me? No. Of course not, Carlisle. I just…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought you wouldn't want me. My eyes… I'm repulsive."

I could no longer bear the small distance between us. I reached for her. "Esme, my love. That is not possible." She slumped into my arms then. "I know that your human husband said hurtful things to you, but I am not he. I am yours, as you are mine. We are a family. And as a family, we have a problem to handle."

I stood and helped Esme off the ground. Edward had wandered away to allow us our moment. I spoke his name and he appeared at the eastern edge of the clearing, dirt covering his trousers to the thigh. _Ah, yes. Thank you, son._

He nodded once and I bent to scoop up the young man's body. Esme held me back.

"No," she said in a low voice. "I'll do it. I want to do it."

She bent and tidied his clothes, straightened the unnatural bend in his neck. Her pale hand smoothed away the stray curls from his forehead. When she lifted him, Edward stepped out to lead the way.

He had uprooted a large spruce a mile from the cabin. Being intuitive as he was, he'd known she would want a proper grave for the boy, so under the tree, he'd dug a hole twelve feet into the earth. Esme stepped to the side and then dropped into the hole. I heard her whisper something—it sounded like an apology—and then she leapt back to the surface holding a square of paper in her hand. Edward moved to stop her when she began refilling the hole.

"I'll do it," he said. His affection for Esme made this more difficult for him, but his instinct to care for her was wonderful to watch. _He truly is a family man at heart. I wonder when he will find someone of his own._

Edward made an amused sound, but Esme took my hand and my attention. "What now," she asked, and her sadness had a new undercurrent of determination.

"Now we say a prayer for this boy and go to pack our things."

She sighed as we walked, her eyes distant as I led her home.


	6. Edward: Resolution

_The reason of a resolution _

_is more to be considered _

_than the resolution itself. _

_— Sir John Holt_

_

* * *

_I seated myself on the piano bench, trailing my fingers lightly across the keys. Saying goodbye.

It wouldn't take long to spread the story of my and Esme's mother being ill back home in Ohio. We would board the train tomorrow evening. Maybe our next house could accommodate a grand piano instead of an upright…

I knew Esme could hear me, so I played the new song for her again. As I transitioned from one note to the next, I felt the tension of the day working itself out through my fingers. My feelings regarding the boy's death, Esme's remorse, and the jolt of being uprooted colored the music, giving a new depth to the melody.

I remembered Carlisle at the cabin, his thoughts torn between grief for the loss of an innocent and concern for his beloved wife. He'd felt more than he'd said, and he'd said more than Esme had understood. Her time under the abusive hand of her first husband had left her broken—venom didn't heal emotional wounds. It was difficult for her to accept love, though she had so much of it to give.

Thinking of tonight, remembering Carlisle's determination to heal the woman he loved, who had saved him in ways he hadn't known he needed saving—without any conscious effort, I had found the composition's rightful end. My fingers pressed the keys and the chords resolved, bringing the song—their song—to the most perfect place.

"Thank you, Edward," Carlisle whispered from upstairs, where he stood folding clothes into a suitcase. Esme had told him about the song.

"Yes, thank you." _For everything_. Esme sat behind me in her rocking chair, a square of paper in her hand. She'd taken the picture from the young man's pocket when she'd laid him in his grave. I looked at it and then at her. She smiled a sad smile and answered my silent question.

_Just a reminder. Someone should remember him._

Her tenderness was touching; she truly was meant to be a mother. I kissed her forehead as I passed on my way to pack my things.

She placed the photo inside her sewing basket and fastened the lid, before she stood, placing the photo inside her waiting suitcase.

Moving on, but not forgetting.

_~ fin ~_


End file.
